


Joined Fates

by mille_libri



Series: Fate [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden Commander Thora Aeducan and King Alistar are finally free to marry, but when has their path ever been easy? Can they really live together without compromising their respective roles?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preparations

“No, no, Thora, it will look better if you have a bow right here.”

“No bows!”

“Or some flowers? We could weave them into the dress like this.”

“I like flowers, but not in my clothes. Or as my clothes.” Thora stamped her foot impatiently. “Leliana, you’re sure I have to wear a dress? I look ridiculous in dresses. Especially … those.” She eyed the pile on the bed with disgust. 

“They’re lovely!” Leliana cried. “I had them made by the best dressmakers in Ferelden.” She smiled down at her friend. “Well, perhaps that’s much like saying you’ve been made love to by the best courtesans in the Chantry…”

“Leliana!” Thora glanced across the room to Anawyn, who was hanging wide-eyed on every word, and back at her friend.

“Sorry.” Leliana giggled. 

“Can we please give up on the dress issue for today?” Thora turned around in the one Leliana was currently torturing her with. “Honestly, Leliana, I have armor that’s lighter than this thing.”

“It is a bit bulky for you.” Leliana raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You’re not wearing armor under that, are you?”

Thora frowned. “It might look better if I was.”

“Mother, you aren’t taking this seriously!” Anawyn cut in. “This is the most important day of a woman’s life.”

Narrowing her eyes, Thora glared at Leliana. “Wonder where she heard that.”

Leliana’s eyes twinkled. “Believe it or not, she heard it from Oghren. Although I do not think he meant what she thought he meant.”

Shaking her head, Thora turned back to Anawyn. “Trust me, dearest, there have been many important days in my life, and the last thing I was worried about on most of them was what I was wearing. I don’t even see why we’re doing this—can’t Alistair and I get married without all the … fuss?”

“He’s the King of Ferelden!” Leliana and Anawyn said together, in identical tones of shock and outrage. 

Thora yanked the sleeves of the dress off her arms, grumbling. “When I was the Princess of Orzammar, I didn’t have to wear anything like this. Andraste’s knickers, I’m the sodding Paragon now, and I wear what I bloody well please.”

“Too much time with Oghren,” Leliana sighed, picking up the pile of unwanted wedding gowns. “Come, Anawyn, we’ll go try on your dresses. That, at least, should be fun.” She frowned good-naturedly at Thora on her way out of the room.

Left alone, Thora sighed. It had been six months since she and Alistair had decided to get married, and somehow the wedding had taken on a size and importance that, in Thora’s mind, it simply did not warrant. She and Alistair shared a life together already, they had a child (children, if you counted Duncan, who was slowly warming to Thora), they slept in the same bed. What more was needed? All she really wanted was a simple ceremony, surrounded by those who were closest to them, the people who had been with them along the way. But Alistair seemed happy enough with the plans, and everyone else seemed to think the big wedding was an important thing. Thora didn’t have the heart to disappoint them all.

She wandered back to her small office, looking over the equally small amount of Amaranthine correspondence she had. 

Truthfully, she was bored. Due to Alistair’s responsibilities, they seemed to spend more time in Denerim than in Amaranthine. Nathaniel Howe and Oghren kept the Vigil and the Wardens running smoothly enough that Thora hardly felt like a Commander anymore, but she had no specific role in Denerim to occupy her time. While in residence at the palace, the time she would have spent running the Vigil had been spent working on wedding plans. It was an activity that made Thora want to run screaming through the palace, searching for a darkspawn to behead.

She pushed a giant pile of papers—seating charts, many of them—aside, sitting down behind the desk and rubbing her eyes with her hands. This simply could not continue. She’d been in command of others for her entire adult life—there had always been something she needed to do. This tedium and the lack of physical activity now that she had no Wardens to train were driving her crazy.

“Thought you might be here.”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Thora looked up. “Did you come to talk wedding fripperies, too? I hear you’ve been filling Anawyn’s ears with the importance of the wedding day.”

Oghren roared with laughter, the sound echoing through the palace corridors. “I said ‘wedding night’. Best part, wouldn’t you say?” He winked at Thora. “Cave tick heard what she wanted to hear. Gotten all swoony now she’s a princess, she has.”

It was true, Anawyn was acting more and more like a soft noblewoman these days. The little girl was another who needed something to do. “What do you need, Oghren?” Thora asked. “I really have to get through these.”

“The Thora Aeducan I know woulda ripped those up months ago,” Oghren said bluntly, plopping himself down in a chair. It creaked beneath him. “Sodding human furniture,” he growled. He looked at Thora. 

“What’s wrong with you, girl? Mopin’ around here. Life with the nug-humper not what you expected?”

“No! I—Alistair … well, you know, Oghren.” Her cheeks flamed red, but even with her oldest friend she couldn’t bring herself to gush. “It’s not that.”

“Then what? Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, some nancy-boy noble? Ya got everythin’ you ever wanted, and you’re draggin’ around here like a crippled bronto.”

Thora sighed. “I know. It’s just—there’s no place for me here. I don’t belong here in Denerim at all. The nobles have made no secret of the fact that I make them nervous; no matter where we are one of us is always so busy catching up on work that we have too little time together; and I have nothing to do here.” Thora looked down at her hands, biting her lip. “I’m beginning to wonder if this arrangement can really work.”

“Sayin’ all this to the wrong person, ain’t ya?”

“I can’t say this to Alistair. He has enough on his mind. And I wouldn’t want him to worry that— I wouldn’t want him to worry.”

Oghren looked at her for a long moment, his eyes unusually sober and serious. “Huh,” he said eventually.

“Scintillating commentary,” Thora said wryly.

Oghren merely grinned at her and left the room without another word.

Thora watched him go with trepidation, wondering what kind of mad scheme he was concocting. Eventually, she decided she’d never guess what might be going on in Oghren’s brain—and probably didn’t want to—and turned back to the seating charts.  
\----- ----- ----- -----  
Alistair sighed with contentment as he made his way through the palace toward his bedroom. He’d never been happier than these past six months. Anawyn’s bright brown eyes across the breakfast table, happy notes and drawings from Cybele, Duncan’s little smiles … and Thora in his arms every night. What could be better? 

As he passed the children’s doors, poking his head inside each room to look with delight at the sleeper within, he admitted it would be nice to have fewer meetings. Missing dinner, as he’d done tonight, happened too frequently. But he hoped that would be temporary, just until he learned how to adjust his schedule to the moves back and forth between Denerim and Amaranthine. 

He pushed his own door open, taking a moment to look at his love as she sat in the middle of the bed, papers strewn around her, red head bent studiously over one.

“Do you think it would be suitable to seat the Rivaini ambassador next to the Grand Cleric?”

Alistair sighed. “Probably not.” 

This was his least favorite topic. Little had he known when he dreamed of marrying the love of his life that it would require all this paperwork. All he really wanted was a small ceremony, with their old friends and their children. Something that would be more heartwarmy and less headachy. But given their stature in the country, all this mess seemed necessary. He felt badly for Thora, though, as she was clearly struggling with all these wedding details, which were no more her type of thing than they were his. He reached up to loosen his doublet and walked toward the bed, shedding clothes across the room as he went.

Down to breeches and smallclothes, he sat gingerly behind her, careful not to disturb the papers. He bent over, nuzzling the back of her neck with his nose. 

“Alistair,” she said.

“Yes, love?” His fingers combed slowly through the red hair, finding the pins that held it up and letting it fall around her face. It wasn’t nearly long enough yet—he still fantasized about the days when her hair, unbound, had brushed the floor—but it was growing out enough for him to be able to feel the silky softness of it between his fingers. 

“I should finish this.”

“Bother the seating arrangements,” he said. He brushed the hair back from her ear, his tongue tracing the edge of her lobe and up around the shell.

She shivered. “I have to get these done.” Her voice was breathless now.

“Here’s a thought,” he murmured, his hands finding the laces at the front of her shirt—his shirt, actually, and how he loved coming in to that sight. “Let’s just let everyone find their own seats.”

Thora gave up, pushing the papers together into a messy pile. “That’s just not done. At least, not according to Leliana,” she said, leaning back against Alistair’s shoulder.

“All the better. We could be trendsetters. Better than that,” Alistair said, his hands finding the hem of her shirt and tugging it up over her hips, “let’s have it in Orzammar. You can be all Paragony and insist the ancestors told you where everyone should sit. They’d have no choice.”

Thora sat up to let him pull the shirt off over her head. “I couldn’t,” she said with regret. “That wouldn’t be fair to Gorim.”

“In that case,” Alistair said, running his hands down the firm muscles of her back and grasping her hips, “I suggest we worry about it some other time.” He pulled her back against him, his hands moving to cup her soft, round breasts.

“Agreed,” Thora gasped. She arched against him, pushing her breasts more firmly into his hands as he squeezed and stroked them. 

Alistair’s mouth moved along the top of her shoulder. “Maker, how I love you,” he whispered. 

Thora turned in his arms, straddling his lap and finding his mouth with hers, kissing him fiercely. She might have complaints about their new life together—but it was together, and at heart, that was what mattered. “Let’s get you out of these,” she said, tugging at his breeches, “and let me show you how much I love you.”

“No argument from me,” Alistair said, lifting his hips to let her pull the offending fabric off. 

When he was naked, Thora knelt in front of him, taking him into her mouth, tasting him with avid delight. Alistair’s hands tangled in the red-gold hair, setting the pace. As she worked him, her hand stole between her legs, touching herself. Alistair groaned, watching her, then he gently pushed her back. 

“Keep doing that,” he whispered, watching in fascination as her hand moved faster, rubbing in small circles. He took over his own pleasure, seeing her pale skin turn red as she writhed on the bed under his rapt gaze.   
Soon the flush reached her face. She raised her hips sharply up off the bed, her mouth opening in soundless ecstasy, and Alistair felt his own control give way as the fluid erupted from him, spattering her stomach.

He held onto the bedpost to steady himself until his legs stopped trembling. Then he went to fetch a warm cloth to clean her—and himself—up with. Together they curled up under the covers. The pages of seating charts lay strewn across the floor, forgotten.


	2. Gifts

Thora paced her study, trying to burn off her nervous energy. She glanced at the clock, whose hands hadn’t moved in the seconds since she’d last looked at it. She knew it took time to get through the customs agents and disembark from a ship, and time to cross Denerim, but did it have to take this long? The ship had docked hours ago!

At last she heard the soft knock. She ran to the door, throwing it open, thrilled to see the familiar face smiling down at her. “What took you so long?” she said, but any sting in the words was mitigated by the broad grin on her face. She had missed him tremendously. 

“Is that any way to greet a weary traveler?” Anders said. 

“I was worried about you,” Thora admitted, hugging her friend.

“You had reason to be.” Anders looked at her seriously, but there was a twinkle in his brown eyes.

“What did you do?” Thora held her breath. Knowing him, it could be anything from drinking the ship captain’s private stash to seducing the First Warden.

“The most dangerous thing a man can do,” Anders said, shaking his head solemnly. Then he grinned. “Fell in love.”

“Really?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t plan this! Catherine … Captain Maverlies, to you … is amazing. Why did I never see that before?”

“Just like that, huh?” Thora smiled at him.

“Well, no,” Anders said, following her into the room and sinking into the chair she gestured to. “I mostly found her annoying until we got to Weisshaupt. But then … I don’t know. They’re so grim and humorless there, and she’s so … not those things. I started to see her clearly for the first time.”

“And?”

“What, you want details? Nuh-uh.” 

“Fair enough. Where is she now, anyway?”

“Efficiently unpacking at the Grey Warden compound. She’s a marvel.” Anders grinned widely. “She told me to come along ahead—she’ll be over later.” 

Thora took a deep breath. “What about the other thing?”

“As you suspected, Fiona wasn’t willing to leave the fortress. Probably just as well; she’s just as dour and serious as the rest of the Weisshaupt Wardens. I doubt she’d have appreciated Alistair’s sense of humor.”

“That’s odd, given how many people have said Alistair reminds them of Maric. And she must have liked Maric at least a little.”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to like someone to have sex with them. Sometimes just the opposite.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Thora sighed. “It’s disappointing that she didn’t come, but as you say, not surprising. Did she … say anything?”

Reaching into his robes, Anders produced a neatly rolled scroll. “She sent a letter.”

“Ancestors bless you, Anders, I knew you’d come through!” Thora took the scroll gently from him. “Now, you and Maverlies are coming to dinner, yes?” He nodded. “Good, because Anawyn’s dying to see you. So is Oghren, although he’d never admit it.”

“Oghren’s here, too? Are there any Wardens left in Amaranthine?”

“Nate’s running the place. He seems to prefer it when the rest of us aren’t there. Warden-noble is a position that suits him well.”

“And you?” Anders leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I heard rumors as I was coming back that the King of Ferelden had shocked all the nobles by marrying a dwarf. Or that the Paragon of Orzammar was threatening the stability of the very Stone by marrying a human. Depending, of course, on who was doing the whispering.”

“True enough,” Thora said. 

“So I missed the joyous day?” He looked crestfallen.

“Sadly, no. I mean, not sad that you haven’t missed it … but very sad that it isn’t over with yet.”

“Ah,” Anders said, studying her face. “Trouble in paradise?” 

She opened her mouth to explain, then closed it again. Anders might be in the midst of new love, and he might be her dearest friend, but he was also the man who’d carried a hopeless torch for her for the better part of a decade. Probably not the right person to share her difficulties with. 

Sooner or later, she was going to need to talk to Alistair about her increasing boredom and frustration. But first, they had to get through this increasingly nightmarish wedding process.

Fortunately, Oghren and Anawyn burst into the room, drawn by the shared taint in their blood, to greet the new arrival. In the chaos of hugs and squeals (not all of them from Anawyn), Thora excused herself, slipping down the hall to Alistair’s office. Often as she’d railed against the taint, it did come in handy when she was trying to find other Wardens. 

“Yes?” Alistair said impatiently in response to her knock. 

She opened the door, poking her head in. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

“You, love? Never,” he said, a smile crossing his tired face. “I’m sorry I snapped. I wasn’t thinking, or I’d have known who it was.” He stood up, coming around the corner of the desk to kiss her. “I’m still getting used to having you around. Every time someone knocks on my door and it turns out to be you, it’s a fresh delightful surprise.”

“That’s … strange but sweet,” Thora said. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all.” He sank into the big chair near the fire. “Something on your mind?”

“Actually, I have something for you. It’s sort of a wedding gift.”

“For me?” Alistair smiled. “You know you didn’t have to do that. You’re gift enough.”

“Is that just code for ‘I haven’t gotten you anything’?” Thora grinned at him.

“Mayyybe. You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Which is code for ‘as soon as you leave, I’m going to scramble to think of something,’” Thora said.

“Just for that, maybe I won’t.” He pulled her close, kissing her. “Thank you for the gift. It was just what I wanted.”

“I haven’t given it to you yet.”

“Yeah, but I trust you.”

She shook her head at him. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Dutifully, he did so, and she laid the scroll in his hands.

Alistair looked at it curiously. “What’s this?”

“Open it and find out.”

He broke the seal, unrolling the scroll. His eyes went to the signature first, and he looked up at Thora in surprise. “This is from my mother.”

“I know. When I sent Anders to Weisshaupt, I asked him to see if she would come here to meet you. He said she was unwilling to do so, but she sent this letter. I … hope it’s a nice letter.”

“You didn’t read it first?”

“That didn’t seem like much of a gift. ‘Here’s a letter, I opened it already. Happy wedding,’” Thora said.

“You’re starting to sound like me.” Alistair grinned at her. “Which is better than when you sound like Oghren.” He turned his attention back to the scroll, clearing his throat.

“You’re going to read it out loud?”

“I don’t have any secrets from you. Besides, who else would I share this with?”

“The children?”

“Not until I know what it says.” His brow furrowed nervously. 

_Alistair:_

_I have, of course, followed your movements since the Blight. You have accomplished much. It pleases me that you and the Warden Commander have overcome so much to be together and can give your child what I was never able to give you. There were arguments at Weisshaupt at the time of your daughter’s birth, whether to step in. Grey Wardens are generally not allowed to raise their children, should they be fortunate enough to have them. I interceded on the Commander’s behalf—and on yours._

_At some point, it would please me to meet you and your family … but I did not think the occasion of a state wedding was the most appropriate timing. For now, please know that I deeply regret the mistakes made in your upbringing and my part in allowing them to occur. And that I am extremely proud of you._

_Fiona_

He stared at the paper for a moment. “She sounds like a barrel of laughs.”

“Anders says they’re all a bit grim at Weisshaupt, and that Fiona is no exception. Still, though …” Thora climbed into his lap, putting her head on his shoulder. “Is it nice, to hear from her after all this time?”

“It is. It’s not what I would have dreamt about, maybe, but … it’s nice.” He wrapped his arms around her. “And you’re amazing. Thank you, love.” 

“Anything for you,” she said softly. She lifted her face for a kiss, and was startled when Alistair abruptly stood up. His hand reached out to steady her as she was unceremoniously dumped onto her feet. 

“What?” she asked warily.

“Well, I was saving this—I was going to give it to you at the last minute, as a surprise, but … Come with me.” He took her hand, leading her out of the room and through the labyrinth of corridors to a little-used storage room Thora had never seen before. Alistair flung open the door, grinning proudly down at her.

Mystified, Thora walked past him into the storage room. “Oh, Alistair,” she breathed. In front of her was an armor stand with the most finely crafted set of armor she had ever seen. It was of fine, soft leather, bleached white, with a red rose carefully tooled into the chestpiece and a bouquet of flowers worked onto the back of each gauntlet. She reached out to stroke the leather with one finger.

“I had it made of leather so it would be more comfortable. I thought, for all the state occasions—I know how you hate having to wear dresses—and … for the wedding?” 

Tears gathered in Thora’s eyes. He understood! Somehow he had known how she dreaded walking down the aisle in a fancy gown, how it just didn’t feel like her wedding if she had to wear something so alien. 

“Oh, Alistair!” she said again, turning to throw herself into his arms. 

He lifted her against his broad chest. “So, you like it?” He was actually worried, she realized, which only made her hug him harder.

“Of course I like it. It’s the most perfect, thoughtful, beautiful …” He cut off the litany with a kiss.

“I’m glad. I don’t think I have to tell you how Master Wade worried about this one. Herren’s never going to speak to me again, I think, this took so long to make. But Master Wade actually said he didn’t hate it when it was done, which is pretty high praise for him.”

Thora laughed, pulling his head down for another kiss. “I can’t believe you had this made for me.” 

“You didn’t think I was going to marry some stranger in a dress, did you?”

If he understood about the dress, then … hesitantly, Thora said, “Alistair, do you—do you hate this as much as I do?”

“Hate what?” He looked startled.

“This whole wedding nonsense.”

“Oh, that. Yes. I really, really do.”

“Then … um … why are we doing it?” Thora looked up at him searchingly.

“I guess … because I’m the King and you’re the Hero of Ferelden, and a Paragon.” Alistair shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to do.”

“But if you don’t want to, and I don’t want to, then—maybe we don’t have to do it this way?”

A smile spread slowly across his face. “I suppose we don’t.” He closed the door of the closet behind them, whispering, “So how are we going to get out of all this?”

“I don’t know,” Thora said. The giddiness of knowing they agreed about the wedding, the relief that they didn’t have to go through with it, and the feel of his body against hers had her suddenly more concerned with getting him out of his clothes. She took his earlobe in her teeth and licked at the sensitive edge of his jaw.

Alistair shivered. “Here? In a closet?”

“Why not?” She threaded her hands through his hair, kissing him, her tongue finding his.

He moaned into her mouth. There was a table in the corner of the room, and he carried her toward it, kissing her with a sudden heated urgency. He sat her down on the edge of the table, pulling her shirt off and unhooking her breastband, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth while his hands worked at removing the rest of her clothes.

Thora lay back on the table, her eyes closing as his hands moved over her, finding all the familiar spots that made her gasp with pleasure. “Please, Alistair,” she said as his hand moved between her legs, fingers pumping slowly in and out.

Swiftly, he got his own clothes out of the way. He wanted to take it slow, but Thora was frantic, writhing beneath him as he entered her, and soon he was slamming against her, his excitement rising with each little whimper she gave. Her hands gripped his wrists as she bucked against him, biting her lip to keep silent as she convulsed. Alistair followed her over the edge a few moments later, leaning his head against her shoulder as he panted.

“I should promise not to get married to you more often,” he said at last.


	3. Alterations

“Leliana, I’m all for a good party, but …” Thora looked at her friend doubtfully. 

“When was the last time you went to a party?” 

“Um. Well, it was … That is, I’m sure I must have— You know, I can’t remember,” Thora said.

“All the more reason why we must have a girls’ night out,” Leliana said firmly. “Let’s see, there’s you and me and Felsi and Sigrun …”

“Don’t forget Captain Maverlies,” Thora said.

“Oh, yes.” Leliana’s eyes twinkled. “We can find out everything we ever wanted to know about what Anders is like in bed. You think he uses magic?”

“Leliana!” Thora said, scandalized. “Isn’t Perth enough for you?”

“It is always good to compare notes,” Leliana said. “Besides, you must have wondered.”

Thora could feel her cheeks heating.

“Ah-ha! You have!” Leliana said, giggling.

“Maybe.” Thora shook her head. She remembered Leliana’s questions about Alistair’s performance during the Blight—somehow the bard had always wormed the details out of her, despite Thora’s general reluctance to talk about such things.

“Do we need anyone else?”

“I think that’s enough. Let’s just leave it at the five of us.”

“As you wish, my friend. It’s going to be an unforgettable night,” Leliana said, fairly bouncing in glee.

Thora groaned. There was no stopping Leliana when she got started—she might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.  
\------ ------ ----- ------  
“Oghren, I don’t know about this,” Alistair said with trepidation. 

“Trust me, nug-humper. Ol’ Oghren’s got yer best int’rests at heart. ‘Sides, the man’s the King o’ Orzammar. Won’t do to make ‘im mad.”

Alistair cast a glance at Anders. “Do you know anything about this?”

Anders shrugged, but a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “I just got off a boat,” he said. “How am I supposed to know what goes on in Oghren’s brain?”

Chortling, Oghren rubbed his hands together. “Got a whole night full o’ dwarven celebratin’ for you boys,” he said.

“Will I still have a kingdom left in the morning?” Alistair asked plaintively, but it had been a losing battle from the start. Whatever Oghren and Gorim had cooked up, it was inescapable. The irony that his stag night was made up of two men who had once been hopelessly in love with his bride-to-be, in addition to Oghren and Perth, wasn’t lost on him. But Gorim had been contentedly married for many years, and Anders seemed quite happy with Captain Maverlies … and after all, Alistair himself had been hopelessly in love with his bride-to-be since the day he met her. He couldn’t blame the others.

“Let’s get movin’, then,” Oghren said. “Ale’s waitin’!”  
\----- ----- ----- -----  


Thora submitted good-naturedly to the blindfold, feeling Felsi’s strong hand on one arm and Sigrun’s on the other as they led her to the carriage. Leliana was whispering to Maverlies just in front of them, and Maverlies giggled at something, a sound that did not resolve any of the questions running through Thora’s head. She wished she and Alistair had come up with a good way to get out of this whole wedding thing before their friends had gone to all this trouble. Time was running out on their chance to escape—there were only a couple of weeks left before the ceremony was supposed to occur, and so far neither of them had had what could be called a good idea for how to avoid it.

She wasn’t familiar enough with Denerim to follow the various twists and turns the carriage took, especially not blindfolded. “How much farther?” she asked, but only giggles answered her.   
\----- ----- ----- -----  


“You know I live here, right?” Alistair protested, as Oghren handed him a Templar’s bucket helmet. “I’ll know where you’re taking me.”

“Put that thing on, you won’t be able to hear or see anythin’,” Oghren grunted. 

“I was hoping to avoid ever having to wear one of these,” Alistair said as the helmet slid down over his face. His voice echoed strangely inside it. How in Thedas did Templars manage to capture anything wearing these ridiculous things? He was aware of being led to a carriage of some kind, and of movement, but beyond that, he couldn’t tell where he was or where he was going. Vaguely he heard Oghren’s guffaws and the more restrained laughter of Anders and Perth, and he tried to resign himself to whatever the surprise would be, to prepare himself for anything from women to goats.  
\----- ----- ----- -----  
“Are you ready, my friend?”

“Leliana, if you don’t get this blindfold off me, I swear …” Thora threatened. Suddenly she felt the pulse in her blood that signaled the presence of other Grey Wardens—not just Sigrun, but … yes, Oghren, and Anders … and the heady thrum that was always and only Alistair. “Leliana?”

The bard giggled, ripping off the blindfold. Thora blinked in the sudden brightness, her eyes adjusting. Alistair stood in front of her, surrounded by the other men, also blinking in confusion. Then his eyes met hers and a grin spread across his face. “Hello, love. Nice to see you here. You’re a much better surprise than anything I expected Oghren to come up with.”

“You both do me great honor.” It was Gorim’s voice, which Alistair had clearly expected—but Thora had not. She turned to look at her former Second, now King of Orzammar.

“Gorim, what are you doing here?” She went to him, embracing him with all the affection of their long history together.

“My lady,” he said fondly. It was a habit she had never been able to convince him to break. She supposed at least he didn’t refer to her as Paragon, which was something. “It was brought to my attention that you and His Majesty,” he nodded to Alistair, who murmured his name in yet another fruitless attempt to break Gorim of his warm reserve, “weren’t happy about the formal wedding. I was, as you might imagine, terribly surprised.”

He smiled at her, and Thora grinned. Even after so many years, Gorim still knew her well. 

“Thought we’d do somethin’ about it,” Oghren said. He raised a mug and clinked it against Leliana’s wineglass.

“What, exactly, are we doing, then?” Thora asked suspiciously. Much as she loved her friends, she didn’t entirely trust them to be doing the politically correct thing.

“Welcome to your wedding night,” Sigrun giggled.

“Well, I like the sound of that,” Alistair said huskily. “But, um, don’t we have to get married first?”

“That’s the plan, my friend,” Anders said. He nodded in Gorim’s direction. “With some help from your friend over there.”

Alistair’s head turned slowly toward the mage. “Run that one by me again.”

“It is very simple, my dear friends,” Leliana said, looking at them both as though they were being incredibly thick-headed. “This is your wedding. Small. Intimate. Personal. Everything you both have wanted.”

“But—the Grand Cleric,” Thora said. “Don’t we need her?”

“What kind of a dwarf are you?” Sigrun asked. “You’ve got the King of Orzammar right here—you think he can’t perform a wedding?”

“How do you all intend to explain this to all the people invited to the actual wedding?” Alistair asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Pretty simple really,” Anders said. “We tell them thanks for coming …”

“I explain the ancient dwarven ritual that requires a Paragon’s marriage to be a quiet affair, and assure them that I was a witness to the ceremony,” Gorim put in.

“Then we show ‘em to the ballroom where all the free booze is flowin’,” Oghren finished, throwing an arm around Felsi. 

Thora’s eyes met Alistair’s, both wary but amused. Explaining away the private ceremony would be much more fun than organizing and suffering through the public one, his eyes seemed to be saying to her as they warmed and crinkled with the smile spreading across his face.

“I think it’s brilliant,” he said happily. 

There would be complications, Thora was certain of that, but overall it was a dream come true. Except—the smile faded from her face and she shook her head. “Really, this is lovely, but we can’t.” Her eyes met Alistair, and his smile collapsed as well as he understood her objection.

He turned to Gorim. “You’re very generous, but we can’t do it this way—Anawyn would never forgive us. Nor would Duncan.” There had never been any question of Morrigan, Xandros, and Cybele attending. The child’s resemblance to Alistair would have provoked too many questions. But the other children had to be there.

Felsi frowned at them both. “What kind of fools do you think we are?” she demanded. “As though we would have forgotten your children.” She opened a door and Jens ushered in Anawyn and Duncan, looking tired but excited. The children rushed at their parents.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Thora asked.

“We were saving Anawyn in case you objected and had to be talked into it.” Anders grinned at her affectionately. “You get stubborn sometimes.”

Thora blushed. Alistair hoisted Duncan up in one arm while Anawyn clung to the other side, and he reached for Thora’s hand. “You all seem to have thought of everything.”

“Does that mean you’ll be getting married now?” Oghren asked. “’Cause we can’t drink till ya do.” 

“Yes. Yes, it does,” Alistair said, squeezing his love’s hand. 

“You’re all geniuses,” Thora said, smiling at the assembled company—the best people in Thedas, really. “Thank you.”


	4. Vows

“Let’s get this show goin’, then,” Oghren said.

“How are we doing this?” Thora looked at Gorim, who smiled warmly at her. 

“I believe we need you and your bridegroom in order to get this started,” he said.

She looked up at Alistair, taking his hand. 

“I think we can dispense with the preamble,” Gorim continued. “We all know why we’re here. And by the Ancestors, if anyone has any objections, I don’t want to hear them!”

“I believe, as King, I can throw any objectors into Fort Drakon,” Alistair growled. He glared around the room, completely failing to look intimidating, and Thora smiled up at him, sending warmth and happiness cascading through his body. It was hard to believe they were both here, finally free to promise themselves to each other—and to follow through on that promise. His breath caught with the joy of it and he squeezed her hand.

“Why would anyone object?” Anawyn asked, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“No one would,” Leliana said reassuringly, putting her arm around the little girl’s shoulders. “It’s just a custom.”

“Good, then.”

There was a general chuckle at the determined tone in Anawyn’s voice. 

“You tell ‘em, cave tick,” Oghren said.

Gorim cleared his throat. “I understand in a human ceremony, there is singing.”

“I can handle that part,” Leliana said. Her pure, clear voice lifted in the Chant, blending with Perth’s smooth baritone as they sang through the Canticle of Benedictions. Perth took Leliana’s hand, his joy at sharing this moment with her palpable. After the first few notes, Maverlies joined in, her voice a strong alto and a beautiful complement to the others. When they stopped singing, Anders put his arm around Maverlies, looking at her with amazement and pride. It was the way Perth looked at Leliana; the way Oghren looked at Felsi; the way Alistair was looking right now. Thora’s heart warmed toward her good friend. She’d been nervous about placing Maverlies in his way, afraid Anders could never love someone he could actually have, afraid the mage would hurt the dark-haired warrior Thora had come to respect. But she’d trusted in Anders’s innate warmth and Maverlies’ love, and the two of them seemed to have achieved the happiness she’d wished for them.

“In a dwarven ceremony,” Gorim continued, “there is dancing and drumming.” 

With her cheery smile, Sigrun reached for a drum that sat on the table, clearly placed there beforehand for this purpose, and a space was cleared for Oghren and Felsi to perform a traditional wedding dance. Under normal circumstances, this dance started out slow and sedate, the dancers portraying the bridal couple’s first meeting and their initial shyness. As it went on, the dancers drew closer together, miming the initial pecks on the cheek and nervous touching of early love and then growing bolder, tracing the course of the bridal couple’s desires. The dance most often ended in a passionate kiss, the man’s leg pressed between the woman’s thighs. Of course, Oghren couldn’t leave it at that. He spun Felsi around in his arms, his mouth at her neck and his hands moving down over her stomach, completely lost in the moment. 

Abruptly, the drumming stopped. Oghren looked up in surprise. “Wha’d ya--?” he started to bellow at Sigrun, but he followed the other dwarf’s pointed drumstick to Duncan’s wide eyes and Anawyn’s pink cheeks. “Oh. Sorry. Forgot where I was,” he said, a rare blush stealing over his face. 

Felsi laughed, smacking him affectionately on the arm. “Save it for later, nug-for-brains.”

“I think I need to go to a few more dwarf weddings,” Anders said.

“Only if we leave that one at home,” Maverlies said, grinning at Oghren.

“Never know what yer missin’, girlie,” Oghren chortled. “Y’ever get tired o’ Sparkle-fingers—“ Felsi cleared her throat, and he squeezed her waist affectionately. “Yer outta luck. I got my hands full.”

Gorim held up a hand. “If we can get back to what we were doing?”

“Which was what, exactly? I can’t seem to recall,” Alistair teased, his eyes twinkling at Thora.

“You were gettin’ married, Daddy,” Duncan said before a huge yawn nearly overpowered him.

“That’s right, how could I have forgotten?” Alistair took his son’s hand. He’d been worried that Duncan wasn’t truly ready for this, that Duncan still missed his mother too much to allow Thora a place in his life. But over the time they’d been together as a family, the boy and his stepmother had found a way to get along and now they seemed to enjoy each other’s company. He turned back to look at Gorim, who was waiting patiently.

“Truthfully, I’m mostly decorative at this function,” Gorim said. “I have no authority over our Paragon here and thus all I can do is agree when she says she is married to this human. Unprecedented though such a thing may be. So I believe Alistair and Thora should do the talking—I am certain that they have much to say to one another in this, the ceremony that will bind them together as husband and wife.”

“Wait, I was supposed to write vows? I didn’t even know this was happening!” Alistair said in a panic.

“Just tell her what is in your heart,” Leliana said softly. She glanced over at Perth, and they shared a look that said more clearly than any words what was in their hearts. Their nuptials, scheduled for later in the   
summer, would be a more traditional Chantry affair, but the years they had spent coming together and breaking apart had already bonded them. The ceremony would merely be icing on the cake.

“I can’t—in front of all these people?” Alistair stammered.

Thora took both his hands in hers. “These are our dearest friends,” she reminded him. “They’ve all heard, um, a lot more intimate things than our wedding vows.”

“Got that right,” Oghren shouted. “Nug-humper there used to call on the Maker ‘til—“ He stopped abruptly when both Felsi and Sigrun smacked him.

“Just look at me,” Thora urged, her eyes never leaving Alistair’s. 

“I never thought this day would come,” he said, his voice shaky at first but gaining confidence as he spoke. “From the day I met you, all my dreams have been of you. As my leader, my lover, my children’s mother, my partner … my best friend. The years we were apart were like a nightmare. If it hadn’t been for my responsibility to my country, I would never have left your side, not for a moment. And I never will again. In front of all these witnesses, these dear friends—this family who have been with us along the way, who ended the Blight with us, brought us together, saved our child, and whose loyalty has never faltered—I swear: Thora, I am yours. For every moment that is left to us on this earth, and into whatever lies beyond. This is my solemn vow.”

A hush lay over the room when he finished, broken only by Leliana’s sniff as she brought a handkerchief to her eyes. “I wish Wynne could have heard that.”

“I do, too,” Thora said, blinking back her own tears. “After the lecture she gave me once, I’d have liked to have the chance to say ‘I told you so’.” She smiled, and Alistair chuckled. 

“I think she’d have liked that, too,” he said.

“Your turn, Paragon,” Gorim said quietly. A wistfulness crossed his face as he turned to her, and Alistair felt a great sympathy and affection for this generous man who had loved her from afar for so long.

“I can’t top that,” Thora said, and a chuckle swept the room. She took a deep breath. “I’m a soldier,” she began. “A commander. I have always been, from my earliest memory, and I learned in the great forge that is Orzammar just how hard it is to find someone to trust.” She glanced at Gorim with an affectionate smile, and he acknowledged the tribute with a nod of his head. “It took a long time for me to be able to trust my own feelings—and yours—and much, much longer for me to learn to trust in your leadership. I promise always to believe in you—your friendship, your abilities, your decision-making, your love. And I vow never to be parted from you again. Not in the rest of our life, not in the Deep Roads when we go into our last battle side by side, not in the beyond. Where you go, so will I. Always.”

Alistair’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and Oghren blew his nose loudly and ostentatiously. Thora looked at Gorim. “Is there anything else?” she whispered.

“I think it’s about time you kiss your husband, Paragon,” Gorim said. The room broke out in applause and cheers as Alistair bent to capture her lips with his. The kiss was long and sweet and promised many more to come. At last they broke apart to be hugged and congratulated by their assembled friends. 

As Thora put her arms around Anawyn, holding the beaming little girl close, she found Gorim had come to stand next to her.

“Well, I believe my work here is done,” he said. “Except for one final thing. My lady, if I may?” He gestured toward a quiet corner. Thora let go of Anawyn, who sat down with her head pillowed on Leliana’s lap. It looked as though the little girl would be asleep in a very short time. Duncan was already snoring softly on Oghren’s shoulder.

Thora followed Gorim to the corner. “What is it?” she asked curiously.

“A giant nug mentioned you were having trouble finding your place.”

“Did he?” Thora cast an irritated glance at Oghren. “Remind me to thank him.”

“He meant well. And between us, we came up with a suggestion.”

“Which is?”

“There is a growing population of dwarves living on the surface. But unfortunately, we don’t have any way to keep track of our people on the surface, or any network to help them get started here. If it’s true that you have considered stepping down from your position as Commander of the Grey, the surface citizens of Orzammar could use your assistance. You could have a central location in Denerim, another one in Kal’Hirol, near enough to Amaranthine to keep your hand in there if you so choose, but it would be easier for you to work in Denerim and wouldn’t require as much travel. Your people could use your help, Paragon.”

“Gorim, that’s brilliant! You’re a genius!” Thora hugged him. “I’ll have to give it some serious thought—stepping down from the Wardens isn’t something one does every day—but that is a wonderful idea. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, we’d still be in the midst of a Blight and I’d be a surface merchant and outcast.” He took her hand in his, bowing deeply over it. “My lady.”

As Gorim left the room, Thora turned to look at the others. She watched Alistair laughing at something Oghren had said. She walked over to them, taking her love’s—her husband’s—hand. At last he was hers, and no one could take them away from each other.


	5. Finis

Alistair walked out onto the broad veranda and down to the sandy beach. The rays of the sun beat down on his shirtless torso, and he stretched lazily, feeling warm and languid. He and Thora had only been on their honeymoon for a couple of days, but they had been, bar none, the best days of his life. Fergus Cousland had loaned them the use of a little beach cottage he owned. The children were staying with Oghren and Felsi at Vigil’s Keep, and Sigrun was coordinating security. After all, the King of Ferelden and Orzammar’s only living Paragon didn’t get to put down those titles, not even for a honeymoon. To Sigrun’s credit, so far Alistair had had the illusion that he and Thora were completely alone. 

It had taken nearly two months after their intimate exchange of vows to bring about this idyll. They’d had to suffer through the surprise and displeasure of many of the noblewomen and the private congratulations of many of the noblemen. Alistair had been heartened to discover that other men disliked stilted formal affairs nearly as much as he did. He wished he’d known that years ago. The women had eventually been appeased by the grand ball they had thrown in celebration of their nuptials. Thora had worried there might be doubt cast on the legitimacy of their marriage after the private ceremony—the Grand Cleric wasn’t overly excited to have the King of Ferelden marrying a dwarf, and could potentially have caused a stir. But since the succession was secure, Alistair assumed it mattered little whether their marriage had been conducted in front of the Chantry or not … and no one was about to call the King of Orzammar a liar. Not with more and more dwarven thaigs deep beneath Ferelden being retaken. 

Thora had taken a moment to sit down with her Senior Wardens, and when they returned from the honeymoon she would be wrapping up her tenure as Warden Commander, with Oghren stepping into the place. Nathaniel Howe would become Arl of Amaranthine officially, having done the job for a number of years. Thora had been intrigued by Gorim’s plan to organize aid and support for surface dwarves, and had filled several sheets of vellum with ideas to share with her former Second. That an organized community of surface dwarves would be more likely to feel continued ties to Orzammar had been implied by Gorim. That putting the Paragon at that community’s head would make her feel more tied to Orzammar had gone carefully unsaid. Alistair had to admire Gorim’s smooth subtlety—had he suggested such a thing to Thora, she’d have refused energetically.

Farther down the beach, Alistair saw the small figure seated in the sand, the little waves lapping at her toes. For all Thora’s love of the surface, she had never learned to swim. She didn’t like to get too close to the water. Possibly having been nearly crushed to death by a sea monster had something to do with that, as well, Alistair thought, digging his bare toes into the hot sand as he ambled down the beach to join her.

She turned to look at him as he approached, shading her eyes against the sun. “It’s about time you got up. I was about to go into the Fade looking for you.”

“You’d have disrupted quite the dream,” he said, sinking into the sand next to her. “There was this beautiful woman, naked …”

“I’d have had to fight her,” Thora said, leaning against his arm. He lifted it, tucking her against his side.

“Intriguing though that sounds, she was you.”

“Then I’d have had to fight me.”

“Now that sounds more than just intriguing.” Alistair’s voice roughened and he dipped his head to kiss her. “Can we try that sometime? Please?”

“I don’t know if it would even work that way,” Thora said breathlessly. Alistair’s hand threaded into her silky red hair, his mouth moving down her neck to the open collar of her shirt—his shirt. 

“There you go being all practical,” he murmured, nibbling the edge of her collarbone. His hands slid under her shirt, trailing warmth behind them.

Thora moaned, holding his head to her breast as he suckled her nipple. “Didn’t you say … you liked me practical?”

“There are moments.” He urged her hips up so he could slide the thin linen pants down over them.

“Alistair!” Scandalized, Thora looked up and down the beach. “Right here?”

“No one’s watching.” He kissed her knee and the back of her calf.

“Sigrun has guards out there somewhere.”

“What are they going to do, draw a picture and post it on Denerim’s gates?” Alistair’s mouth moved between her legs, his tongue working its magic, and protesting was suddenly the last thing Thora wanted to do. She turned her face up to the sun, crying out in pleasure. Her fingers tangled in Alistair’s hair as he pushed her closer to the peak.

Heedless of the sand in her hair, she tossed her head from side to side, lifting her hips and murmuring his name. The sounds of the ocean and the warmth of the sun added to the sensations filling her body until at last the waves of ecstasy washed over her. 

“Alistair,” she sighed as he moved to lie next to her, his big hand caressing her stomach. 

“Yes, love?”

“We wasted so much time not being together,” she said sadly, tracing the strong line of his jaw with her fingers.

“None of that,” he said. “There’s plenty of time yet … and no room for sadness or regret on our honeymoon. We’re together now, and that’s what matters.” And then she was in his arms, her head pillowed on his broad chest. “Besides,” Alistair said, grinning at her. “Maybe we can get your friend Dagna to come up with a cure. If she can get a dwarf into the Fade, maybe she can cure the Calling, too.”

Thora felt the practical objections to that idea bubble automatically to her lips, and she hastily clamped down on them. His more hopeful view of the future had worked well for them so far … maybe it was time for her to learn to follow his optimism, rather than constantly being the rain cloud dampening it. “Stranger things have happened,” she said instead.

“See? Was that so hard?” 

“No,” she agreed, “but this, on the other hand …” He gasped as she stroked her palm over the undeniably hard bulge in his breeches. 

“You noticed that, did you?” Alistair said weakly as Thora slid her hand under his waistband, stroking and caressing his length. He shifted so she could remove his pants and held her head to him as her mouth explored him, hungrily licking and kissing along the muscles of his chest and abdomen. Her hair was like silk beneath his fingers and moving over his skin, even slightly sandy as it was, and he moaned as she brushed his erection with the coppery strands, growing out too slowly for his tastes but long enough to be reminiscent of the shimmering curtain it used to be.

Reaching down, he tugged at her shoulders until she moved back up, holding herself poised above him. Their eyes and hands met, and together they whispered, “I love you,” before Thora moved deliciously slowly to envelop him in her heat. The ebb and flow of their movements was as unhurried as the waves, their pleasure building and cresting and receding. 

Sated, they lay together, Thora’s back against Alistair’s chest. His hand lay on her hip, idly stroking. Soon enough the world would call them back, but this moment was theirs, and it was worth everything they had endured.


End file.
